Chuck Versus the Airline
by Steampunk.Chuckster
Summary: When two strangers miss the same flight, the airline offers to put them up in a hotel until the next available flight...but there's only one room. With no other options available to them outside of sleeping in the airport terminal, they're forced to just accept it. But will it be as bad as they think? Hijinks ensue. Charah. AU. Hard T rating.
1. Chapter 1

**Chuck Versus the Airline**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary: **When two strangers miss the same flight, the airline offers to put them up in a hotel until the next available flight...but there's only one room. With no other options available to them outside of sleeping in the airport terminal, they're forced to just accept it. But will it be as bad as they think? Hijinks ensue. Charah. AU.

**A/N: **This is based off of something real that was in the news and I couldn't resist making a short fic out of it. An airline stuck two strangers—a man and a woman—in the same hotel room after they missed a flight and when they got to the hotel room, there was only one bed. Someone retweeted it and mentioned fanfiction, and I was like (evil laugh), so here it is: my version of Chuck and Sarah being stuck in that awkward situation.

**Disclaimer: **At this point, it should be clear, but I'll say it anyway. I don't own Chuck. I don't own its characters. I'm not making money.

* * *

It was supposed to be easy.

But a lot of missions were supposed to be easy, and something always managed to throw a wrench in the proceedings and make shit difficult.

Apparently this mission would be no different.

She handed her identification to the TSA agent. "Pretty windy out there today, huh?" she asked, making small talk because it made the fact that she was eyeballing her tail a little less obvious.

"I wouldn't know," the agent muttered, looking at the passport and yawning. "Have a good flight, miss."

Something told her this guy didn't care whether she actually had a good flight or not but was just going through the motions of a repetitive job. She spared just a moment to wonder if she'd be able to stand a TSA job like this, checking boarding passes with IDs and passports, one after the other, an endless stream of it for hours on end. It'd be safer than her current job, that was for sure. This guy didn't have to worry about being stalked through an airport, at least. And she imagined he got good benefits. And at the end of the day, he'd go home to his cat and watch TV. (She'd seen the cat fur on his uniform.)

Part of her wanted to be in his shoes. But a bigger part of her was a little addicted to the adrenaline coursing through her as she realized she was being followed by someone, someone who'd had the foresight to purchase a boarding pass to follow her past the security point. Would he follow her onto the plane, too?

Did he know what her mission was and he was planning on stopping her?

Or was he just a creeper?

He was too good to be a random creeper.

But how'd he find out about her mission? She'd been given this assignment by the director himself, and then he'd cut off communications altogether. It was one of those if you get found out we can't help you missions. It wasn't her first—it wouldn't be her last. If Interpol and MI6 knew the CIA was going behind their backs to dispose of Irving McClocken, a human trafficker with crime rings all through the Southern states of the U.S., without traversing the proper channels, it might start an international incident. McClocken was both American and Scottish. She was to follow him into Miami, find his base of operations, gather incriminating evidence, and leak it to MI6 anonymously. Once MI6 was ready to act, they would pull CIA in on the arrest, and they'd be none the wiser that it was the CIA that had illegally gotten the evidence that sunk the bastard.

She was on her own if she was caught, though. And as terrifying as it was, this was just part of the job. Also part of the job? Sinking a shit ton of money into getting a first class ticket for this flight so that she could keep an eye on McClocken.

She needed to get on the flight without a tail, however. And there was really only one way to lose a tail, she'd found in the decade since she'd been recruited into the CIA while she was still in her senior year of high school.

The agent made a hard right, going in the wrong direction towards the exit. It would spit her out back on the bottom floor where she'd have to stand in line and wait to go through security again, but she didn't want this guy to know which flight she was getting on.

Checking her watch, she decided she had time for a wild goose chase.

As long as she played her cards right.

And Agent Sarah Walker was really good at cards.

}o{

"Attention passengers. Due to strong gusts on the airport tarmac at O'Hare, we've been advised not to land on schedule. We will be pulling up to the gate an hour later than we planned. We're very sorry for the inconvenience, especially those of you who have connecting flights..."

He didn't hear the rest of the pilot's spiel because he stuck his headphones back in his ear, blasting The 1975 into his brain as he slumped forward and let his head thunk into the seat in front of him.

The passenger in that seat spun and gave him the evil eye as he pulled back, holding up his hand in apology. "S-Sorry."

He winced to himself and looked out the window. Who would have thought that the "windy city" would have a lot of wind? He was pissed that he hadn't practiced more oversight about the flight the Buy More Corporation purchased for him to get to this dumb conference in Miami. They'd gotten him a cheaper flight that made a stop in Chicago.

And he should have known.

Flights going through Chicago always ended up having issues. Maybe it was weather, maybe the airports were just cursed there.

Either way, he should've known better than to let them book this flight.

He was stuck, though. And there was no use in fretting about it.

And so he stayed in a place of semi-zen until the plane finally landed and pulled up to the gate. He was one of the last people off of the plane because they'd also bought him a seat towards the back, the assholes.

Which forced him to have to make a decision. He could sprint and maybe make the connecting flight to Miami. Or he could resign himself and not expend the energy for something he didn't even want to really do in the first place.

Who really wanted to go to a Buy More conference? And in Miami?

But because he couldn't shake the guilt, the second he cleared the tunnel, he burst past the already tired passengers waiting to board their own late flight and sprinted all the way across the airport.

He just had to hope that if he made the connector flight, his suitcase would too.

It was a high hope, he knew.

But he had to hope.

}o{

He took his shot when she came out of the bathroom, just as she'd planned.

She led her stalker down to the women's restroom around the corner from the abandoned luggage claim carousels. It was a ghost-town in this corner of O'Hare, as she'd hoped.

She needed to end this now and get back up to that flight with McClocken.

So she'd washed her hands, checked to make sure no one else was in the restroom and might walk out and witness what she was about to do, then she steeled her spine and flicked out the CIA-issued non-metal knife she'd snuck into her jacket sleeve that she could sneak past TSA security and onto the plane.

She held it in her palm and pushed the door open.

The second she cleared the door, she felt the arm slip around her neck, and just like that, she slashed his forearm open with the knife. He yelled and fell back, away from her, as she spun and landed a kick to his jaw.

He flew back and landed on his shoulder hard, grunting in pain, but he was on his feet just as quick.

This time with a gun in hand.

Shit.

How had he gotten a gun past security?

"Who are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he snarled.

"Yeah. S'why I asked."

He was shorter than she was, dark hair slicked back, probably to cover a growing bald spot on his head, his shoulders broad, body strapped with sinew. He wasn't going to be easy, most likely. He moved fast. And she saw some intelligence flashing in his dark eyes.

She shifted the knife in her palm, careful not to get his blood on her. She needed to get on that flight without bruises, without cuts, and without blood on her clothes. Damn it.

"Why are you following me?"

"You're following him. I'm just making sure you don't catch him."

"You and what army?" she snarked, before she went in, ducking under his swinging fist and slamming her shoulder into his gut.

She didn't stop until he was pinned against the wall. But before she could jam her knife into his ribcage, he brought an elbow across to hit her jaw, another fist coming around to knock her weapon out of her grasp.

She cursed, making to dive for it, but he caught her by her ponytail and yanked her back so that she hit the floor hard. Trying to catch her breath, she rolled as he brought the gun up, making a desperate kick up to catch his wrist. The gun went sailing through the air and landed on the other side of the carousel.

What kind of idiot thought he'd get away with shooting someone in an airport? It was loud, messy.

And damn it, she needed to get rid of him and get back to that flight. Quick. This had gone on for too long now. And shit, she realized belatedly, maybe that was his goal. Let McClocken's plane take off without her on it.

She'd fallen into the trap too easily.

He was on top of her then, his hand coming down and clasping around her neck, immediately squeezing hard. Maybe he didn't just want her to miss McClocken's flight. Maybe he was legitimately trying to murder her.

_Not today, mother fucker…_

She slammed her knee up, hoping it made contact somewhere that hurt, and when she felt a crunch at impact, his body convulsing over hers, she realized she'd hit a bullseye.

He squeaked in pain and rolled onto his back, grabbing his groin with both hands.

And she scrambled across the floor to grab her knife again. He dove after her and caught hold of her foot just as she closed her fingers around the hilt. And she swung her arm back, missing with her swipe, but catching him off-guard enough that he let go.

They wrestled for a while, each trying to get the upper hand. And she finally managed to swing her legs around to crush his throat between her thighs. He choked, his face turning red as he struggled, trying but failing to pull her legs apart.

And when he flicked his eyes up as if he'd seen someone, his bulging eyes bulging even more if that was possible, she lost her concentration for a second, thinking they'd been caught and she'd be in a pretty difficult position. She couldn't exactly say she was CIA. The agency wouldn't be backing her up this time.

He'd played her for a fool, though. No one was there.

She'd loosened her grip just enough that he got free, snagging her hand and forcing her own knife towards her chest.

She pushed back, grunting with the effort, the blade a mere inch from her heart. She grit her teeth, pushing, pushing...He was too strong, though. It was getting closer…

She had one last chance, an idea that may or may not work.

And she wrenched her hands to the side, twisting both of their wrists. She felt the snap of his own wrist as the knife turned to point up at him. And then she shoved with every ounce of strength she had left.

The knife sank into his torso, just under his ribcage, and she flipped them over fast to keep his blood from spilling onto her clothes.

Sure, she was wearing all black, but still…

He went limp, finally dead, and she took her knife out of him, wiping it on his pants before slipping it back into her sleeve. She'd have to clean that more thoroughly later, maybe on the plane.

The plane that she needed to make.

"Shit!" she snapped. She couldn't just leave him to bleed out here. Acting fast, she grabbed his arms and dragged him, glad he wasn't leaving a bloody trail thanks to her getting him onto his back.

When she reached the carousel, she sat him up against the side of it, climbed onto the belt and hoisted him up with her. Then she shoved him through the rubber flaps, jamming at his body with her boots to get all of him hidden behind it, before she rolled off of the carousel and slumped to the floor for a second to catch her breath.

The gun!

Where had she kicked the gun? She couldn't just leave it for some kid to find.

She leapt over the carousel, standing tall and casting her gaze around the floor. She glanced at her watch and realized she only had fifteen minutes to get back up through security and make it onto that plane.

"Fuck!"

There it was. She saw it, lying on the floor a few yards away. She lunged for it, her boots skidding, snagging it, and sprinting back to where she'd stuffed her stalker and would-be murderer's body.

She couldn't leave her fingerprints here, she knew, so she wiped the gun with her jacket as best she could, then tossed it in with him, running back to her bags where she'd dropped them by the bathroom, grabbing them, and hauling ass back to security.

It didn't matter how hard she ran, though, because she hit a brick wall. Or, to be exact, a line of fifteen or so people waiting to go through security.

"Fuck," she snapped under her breath.

"Yeah, you an' me both, lady," the elderly man in front of her said over his shoulder in a thick Chicago accent.

Of course she was in the line with the elderly woman oh so slowly combing through her purse to find her phone to put in the basket, and _OH I need to take off my double-knotted sneakers? I had no ideaaaaaa let me just do that at a glacial pace…_

The whole point of this mission was staying under the radar, so it was with great effort that she kept herself from just leaping up onto the x-ray machine, dodging people's dumb bags, and leaping down on the other side to sprint to her gate.

She'd get stopped and arrested before the plane took off anyway, she knew. But it would also draw a lot of attention. Which was exactly what she couldn't do. So she waited, and waited.

And waited.

Until she finally got through, grabbed her boots, her bag, jacket, and phone, and sprinted like a bat out of hell to get to her gate. She shoved a businessman blocking her path while yelling on his phone and didn't stop until she got to the check-in door, but it was shut. Not only was it shut, the plane was already pulled out and moving towards the tarmac where it would take off.

Without her.

And Irving McClocken was sitting in there somewhere.

Her chance of pulling this assignment off just got pulverized. To smithereens. She was watching it take off and leave her behind. Everything just got that much harder. And she wanted to punch a hole through the stupid window.

Maybe she could go back and find out if that fucker's body was still there and she could kick it a few more times.

Trying to take some deep, calming breaths, she moved over to a nearby chair and sat, pulling her boots back on, shrugging her jacket on, and fixing everything in her bag that had been jostled by the dropping and sprinting.

There was no use in rushing, no use in charging the flight desk and yelling at them. That plane wasn't coming back. She would just have to get another flight to Miami.

That didn't make the anger and frustration subside though.

It sat in her chest like a giant, heavy bubble that made her want to tear one of these stupid waiting chairs up from the dumb tiles and throw it through a window.

However, she calmly stepped up to the desk and waited for the woman behind it to look up at her.

"Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?" Sarah tried not to imagine slapping the polite smile off of the woman's face. It isn't her fault. It isn't her fault. It isn't her fault.

"Hi. Yes, I got caught up at security and that...that plane that just left? I was supposed to be on it."

The woman's face fell a little. "Oh, I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. It was at security, you say?"

"Yes. It was going very slow. I made sure I got here early and everything," she lied. "But I need to get to Miami as soon as possible. If there are any other flights today that I can squeeze onto, I'd really appreciate that."

The woman nodded. "Let me see what I can find for you. Can I see your boarding pass, please?"

Sarah handed it over right as a huffing and puffing man skidded to a halt at the desk beside her.

"Hi! Hi," he panted. "Sorry. I just ran...pretty much the full length of this airport. It's a big...a big airport," he rushed out in a breath. "And I'm really...I don't exercise enough. Sorry. Sorry, that's neither here nor there. Lemme just…" He held up a finger and bent over, one hand on his knee as he tried to get his breath back.

"Raise your arms over your head," Sarah muttered, and he turned to look up at her, his eyes wide. "Over your head," she said again, demonstrating half-heartedly.

"Oh! Oh...yeah… Right. Thanks!" He straightened to his full height which was...tall, needless to say, and he lifted his arms up over his head, flattening his palms on his dark curly hair and taking deep breaths. "That was my plane that just took off," he said to the customer service agent. "The, uh, the flight to Miami," he explained. "My plane was supposed to land an hour ago but couldn't because of the wind...the wind gusts. Crazy wind gusts. So I tried. I sprinted here. But…"

"Sir, I'm very sorry," the other customer service agent said in her best sincere voice. "The weather is just one of those factors we can't control."

"Yeeeah. Us mere humans," he drawled, shrugging.

"Would you like me to find you another flight to Miami?"

"Yes… Please, thank you." He leaned his elbows on the counter. "I also … er, I was hoping I could get my bag. I doubt it had a chance to get on that plane if I couldn't make it. Not that I'm Usain Bolt or anything."

The CIA agent snorted to herself as she eavesdropped.

"Of course, sir. I'll make sure we get the bag back on the carousel with the rest of the passengers from your flight who weren't headed to connecting flights." She smiled and started click-clacking on her keyboard.

"All right, it seems the next available seat is on a flight that leaves at four-fifteen PM..." The spy turned back to her own customer service agent.

"Oh! Wow. That soon? I can do that…" It was almost three o'clock now.

"Tomorrow afternoon."

The CIA agent gaped. "That's not...four-fifteen PM today?"

"No, ma'am. Tomorrow. Every other flight is full. We can put you on standby but this close to a holiday…?" She winced and shook her head.

"A-Are there two seats on that flight? If I could get on that flight, that'd be awesome. I'll take what I can get," the tall guy who looked to be up shit creek along with her said.

"Yes, sir. We had a cancellation from a party of two. Any preference on the seat?"

Agent Walker turned to regard the man, raising her eyebrow. Suddenly, this had become a joint effort. "Um...no?"

"I'm good," he muttered, clearing his throat and turning back to the employee. "Just...whichever one."

Sarah's helper then brought her attention back with a, "Well, that's taken care of. You'll be on tomorrow's four-fifteen flight. And, as an apology for your missed flight, we're going to find you a hotel room to stay in overnight. A lot of planes are being grounded do to an incoming storm, so it's slim pickings." The woman gestured towards the chairs. "I'll find you a hotel and call you back to the counter when I've booked everything. Feel free to take a seat while you wait."

"Thank you."

Sarah tentatively moved over to sit down, watching the desk as the customer service agent picked up the phone and began making some calls. The tall guy was still leaning in, talking to the woman who'd been helping him.

She was screwed, she knew. Maybe the mission wasn't a complete failure just because she missed the flight. Once she got to Miami, she had some intel that would help her locate McClocken again. It was just going to be a lot of effort, a guessing game in a lot of ways. She'd done it before, she could do it again.

But still.

"Fuck," she breathed, watching as the man smiled and moved away from the desk. She was almost worried he would sit next to her and strike up a conversation. He seemed like the friendly type, a talker. And she really didn't want to deal with that right now.

But instead he walked right past her and sat a good twenty feet away, going into his pocket and pulling his phone out to make a call.

Thank God, she thought to herself.

And at the same time, she was really missing the perks that came with being an intelligence officer, such as being able to call Director Graham and tell him what happened, having the CIA fix it all for her, cover expenses, make sure she got to Miami in a timely enough manner that she could track McClocken down faster.

But she wasn't a CIA agent at the moment. Technically, she was. But if anyone asked, she wasn't. She couldn't be. And that meant not using the number she'd memorized by heart by now—what with all the burner phones she'd gone through, she had to memorize important numbers.

She was stuck. Alone.

She had to get through this by using her own money, her own resources.

}o{

"Will passenger Sarah Walker please come to the assistance desk at Gate L7? Sarah Walker to Gate L7. Thank you."

He glanced up from his PSP and watched as the insanely gorgeous blond woman who'd missed the same flight he'd missed stood up from her seat and went over to the desk, fixing the strap of her bag on her shoulder. She looked like she'd had a rough one. Something he would never say out loud to anyone ever. But she looked frustrated, tired, even a little pissed, though he had to give her credit for not biting the airline employee's head off after the shitty happenstance of missing a flight. She was being polite even though he imagined she'd had someplace important to be, considering how upset she'd seemed at having to wait a whole thirty hours for the next flight to Miami.

And he tried not to assume much more than that.

Suddenly her brow furrowed and she dropped her chin, looking through her eyelashes at the customer service agent. Whatever she said, he couldn't hear from where he sat, but she said it very slowly. The agent nodded and went back to her phone as the blonde stood and waited, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as if asking a higher power for help.

He could relate.

Then again, missing the first day of the four day Buy More conference sounded like a good deal if he was really honest with himself. All of those horrible ice breaker exercises… God, it sounded like hell on earth.

"Will passenger Charles Bartowski come to the assistance desk at Gate L7? Charles Bartowski, Gate L7."

He popped up to his feet and shrugged his backpack on, strolling over to the desk and leaning against it. He smiled at the woman who'd helped him earlier. "Hello again, Wanda. What've you got for me?" he asked. She'd been booking him a hotel room as well for his trouble, just like the other agent had been doing for the blond woman beside him.

"I'm sorry, excuse me, what?" He blinked and turned to see that said blonde had tilted her head, her eyebrows surging up so high they were nearly at her hairline. "What?" she asked again. "I'm sorry. I need you to repeat that. I'm not sure I heard it correctly."

"I said that we've only been able to find one available room, and since you'll be on the same flight tomorrow, we are asking if it would be at all possible for you to share the room."

Chuck's jaw fell open and he stepped up close to the blond woman's side, narrowing his eyes. "What? One room...for both of us? You mean, one room each right?"

"No, she said she wants us to share a hotel room," his fellow passenger said slowly.

"No, we're asking if it's at all possible. It's a nearby hotel and we'll provide a shuttle ride to the hotel this afternoon and back here again for your flight tomorrow," Wanda said, still smiling. He wondered if this woman had worked at a Disney park before this. And then he silently scoffed at himself. She was an airline employee. He wasn't sure if that wasn't worse than working at a Disney park. Travelers were assholes.

"This is all there is?" he asked. "This one room?"

"We'll make sure your bag is brought directly to you, Mr. Bartowski. We have it ready and waiting downstairs."

He felt like they were being railroaded into agreeing to this insane prospect.

"I'm not with him," the woman tried, gesturing between them with her thumb. "We're not...traveling together. We can't. We can't stay in the same room. I don't—I don't know him."

"If you feel unsafe, we can—"

"Unsafe?" she asked, interrupting Wanda. She then gave Chuck a look he didn't much appreciate, very obviously sizing him up. "Trust me, I'll be fine." _Wow, okay._ She spun back to the agents. "There has to be some sort of company policy against forcing a woman and a man who aren't traveling together, don't even know each other, to stay in the same hotel room when they've missed a flight."

"There isn't," the woman who'd been helping her said. "But we won't book it if you're uncomfortable. Plenty of passengers prefer staying in the airport terminal until their next flight and you're more than welcome."

That felt almost a little passive-aggressive now, he thought to himself. And he wondered if the blonde agreed with him. The way she raised her eyebrows made him think did. And a large part of him thought maybe he should let her handle it and see what happened. She didn't seem like much of a pushover.

"If you're right and that's the only available room thanks to this storm grounding a bunch of planes or whatever, I'm going to need some extra incentive. Drink vouchers, food vouchers, something. Because I have never heard of anything this heinous, sticking two strangers in the same hotel room."

"Ma'am, we wouldn't normally do this, but it is the last room. Now it's already booked for you, the airline will be covering your overnight stay, and we will provide food and drink vouchers for both of you, absolutely."

Chuck leaned in a little. "We get food and drink vouchers? …Er...How much?" His fellow passenger turned and gave him a look like _Really?_ He shrugged.

"Ten dollars for food, ten dollars for drinks."

"Each?" he exclaimed. Then he turned to the blonde. "Ten dollars for food and drinks. Each." He shrugged, unsure of how they could pass that up. But then he realized what this must feel like for her. Staying in a hotel room with a strange man she'd never met before, overnight… That was legitimately uncomfortable. God, if Ellie'd been in this situation, he'd be pissed off and worried. "Listen, why don't, uh, why don't you just take the room?" he finally offered, as much as he regretted that he wouldn't have access to a shower. "I did Boy Scouts for, like, a week when I was in the fourth grade, so I think I can handle staying in an airport overnight."

The blonde gave him a surprised look. "You're letting me have the room?"

He nodded. "Sure. Yes."

}o{

Sarah gaped at the man beside her. He'd really just offered her the whole room, a free hotel room she wouldn't have to share with any super tall strangers who may or may not be threats. Well, honestly, she'd been a little rude, but he really couldn't be much of a threat. Not to her. It was still insane that the airline thought it was at all kosher to do this to its passengers.

When she slowly turned back to the two customer service agents who'd been helping them for the past thirty or so minutes, she saw unmistakable looks on both of their faces. If she accepted this man's offer and made him sleep overnight in an airport, they'd think she was the biggest asshole on the planet.

But this was insane. And she voiced it out loud.

"This is insane." She shook her head. "I'm not...going to force you to sleep in an airport terminal. We can make this work. It's...one night."

"Are you sure?" he asked. And she had to give him credit. He was asking her sincerely.

"Yes! It's fine. One night," she repeated again. It was really just one night.

"Right. Just one night. No big. We come back to the airport tomorrow and get on the flight. Easy-peasy!"

"Exactly."

After they worked out their accommodations with Greta at the desk, the woman who'd helped Chuck turning to aid another passenger, they silently made their way down to the baggage claim area. A different one from where she'd stuffed her stalker's body, thank God.

An attendant was waiting with the man's suitcase and handed it over to him, before they ambled outside and across the busy roadway to the shuttle stop.

"At least we don't have to pay for a taxi, huh?" he finally spoke up after almost fifteen minutes of blissful silence.

Sarah just smiled a bit wanly and nodded. She was tired and annoyed.

"I'm just glad I'll have access to a shower tonight. That's really the only gripe I'd have with sleeping in the airport. No showers. I hate falling asleep feeling...dirty you know? I dunno, I can like...feel _the day_ on me." He shivered.

She just narrowed her eyes at him a little, studying him. Huh. Interesting.

Just then a parking guard walked up to them. "Sorry, folks, but the shuttles are experiencing some heavy rush hour traffic and we won't have another one pulling in for forty to forty-five minutes. I'd suggest you get comfortable, or there is the ride share option." He gestured over to the ride share pick-up area yet another hundred or so feet away, across yet another heavily trafficked road. "I'd suggest that. The wind's pickin' up again."

He strolled off as she turned to face her apparent roommate, really kind of done with this entire day.

"Are you freakin' kidding me?" Chuck groaned, letting his head fall back. "How's a ride share getting through the traffic but not the shuttles?"

"They're nearer probably, not caught in the worst of it," she huffed. "They drive around on the airport grounds waiting for their app to flare up, I'm guessing," she said, wiggling her burn phone.

"Let's do it." He tugged his phone out of his pocket then. "Listen, it's more blustery out here than Hundred Acre Woods and I'm not feelin' it. These curls and this sensitive skin does not handle wind well. Also it's cold."

She smirked. "You really aren't dressed for Chicago, are you?"

"Nope." He tapped a few things on his phone. "There. Called a Lyft. They'll be here in seven minutes. Don't worry about the fare, either, I got it. Listen, in California, we don't do the whole...weather thing."

That made her snort, even through her frustration and exhaustion. "You have weather in California, just...not as much variety."

"It's not torture like this is."

Sarah smirked and shook her head, pulling her jacket tighter around her. She could feel the storm coming, definitely. And she'd really like to get inside of a hotel room before it hit. Granted, she thought they had a few hours or so. It'd probably hit sometime later on in the night. And hopefully she'd be sleeping in a nice comfortable bed so that she could be refreshed and ready the next morning. She had a lot of planning to do so that by the time she got to Miami, she hit the ground running. There would be thirty lost hours to make up for.

Their ride share finally pulled up and the driver leaned across the passenger seat, rolling the window down. "Charles?" he asked in a thick Chicagoan accent.

"That's me. You're Martin?"

"Yap! Get in the car!" He grinned in a very friendly manner and Sarah was not liking the prospect of sitting in a car with two incredibly talkative people. Although, she thought maybe they'd just latch onto each other and leave her alone.

She discovered that was exactly what they did.

And she also discovered that the hotel was a good fifteen minute drive away from the airport, not as close as freaking Greta said it would be. And now this Charles guy was paying for their long drive out of his own pocket.

"So California, huh? Boy, I've never been. But it seems beautiful. Never seen an ocean, just lakes. Always lakes," their driver—Martin—was saying. She'd never seen a man over sixty wear a backwards baseball cap but she supposed there was a first for everything.

"Your lakes are so giant up here that they're basically the ocean, though, right? You can't see the other side."

"S'true. Sure. But California. Palm trees. Sandy beaches for miles and miles…"

"You'll get there," Charles said, the smile on his face bright and genuine. It made his nose wrinkle a little. "I've got faith in you, Martin. Someday, you just gotta buy a plane ticket and go. Just go!"

"I might just do that, Charles."

"Chuck," her companion said, reaching forward with his hand so Martin could reach back and shake it. "My friends call me Chuck."

"Well, Chuck, nice to meet ya! What brings you two to Chicago?"

"A missed connector flight."

Martin winced. "Oh, that's not good."

As the two kept talking, Sarah settled into her corner of the backseat and just watched the man named Chuck apparently chat with the Lyft driver. She didn't notice that the grumpy edges to her mood were slowly softening as she watched him. He was just...kind. And warm. It wasn't something she was really used to seeing.

And maybe that was on her.

She didn't exactly surround herself with great people.

She didn't surround herself with _people_.

And in spite of the aches and pains that were starting in her body from the fight she'd gotten into with the man who'd tailed her at the airport, some of her hesitance and inherent urge to keep this guy at arm's length was wearing down. Again, it wasn't something she was really picking up on, as focused as she was on the way he used his hands when he talked, even though Martin was sitting in the seat in front of him and therefore couldn't even see his hands.

But then they started talking about science fiction movies she'd never heard of, robot aliens and American astronauts landing on planets that were inhabited by only women. It sounded ridiculous, but his excitement was palpable, filling the entire car.

"Okay, but The Day the Earth Stood Still has a message, you know? It has a resounding message about humanity."

"Baaaaaah," Martin grumbled, waving Chuck off with a hand. "Who needs a resounding message in a scifi movie about aliens taking over the planet? Just gimme the visuals of Forbidden Planet! It's scifi, for shit's sake! S'posed to be fun!"

Chuck shook his head vehemently. "Nooo, no. That's what science fiction has been since...the beginning! Since Jules Verne. There's always some sort of political or social statement in there. Like...a world we should be striving for. Inclusivity. Or...or saving the planet. You know? Environmentalism. Anti-racism, or-or anti-fascism."

"Well, we're just gonna have to agree to disagree on that. I'm about the visuals. The crazy robots, the bleak Martian landscape, the space ships, the weird suits they wear."

Chuck held his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right. We'll agree to disagree, Martin. I'm cool with that."

God, his nose really wrinkled all the way up when he grinned. She shook herself and turned to glance out of her window.

She was starting to notice the discomfiting thoughts she was having, the easing of her brittle mood, the softening around the edges, the way she really had to fight to stay grumpy about the entire situation.

And she didn't much like it.

* * *

**A/N: **There are a few more chapters to this. And when I say a few I mean JUST a few. Hope you enjoyed this first part. Please leave a review! Thanks!

-SC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Honestly, I appreciate the feedback. Thanks for reading this and I hope y'all continue to enjoy my work, both the things I've already published, and everything that's to come. Not just here but other stories, fics, arcs, et cetera. Thanks. The more reviews you leave, the more it increases my drive to write.

Here is the second part of _Chuck Versus the Airline_.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK. I'm not making any money.

* * *

"Okay, so as long as this place has running water, I don't care what else. There could be a freakin' polar bear in the middle of the room and I'm good with it," Chuck chirped over his shoulder as he led the way to the motel room.

Frankly, Sarah just wanted her own room. No offense to this guy who was at least sincerely nice. It wasn't an act. He had a joy to him that wasn't affected at all. And yet, it wasn't like he was one of those people who were way too much with their constant positivity and happiness to the point where it became annoying to be around them. He was just...pleasant. He was pleasant to be around.

And she was especially grateful he hadn't asked her a million questions about her life. No "So tell me about yourself, Sarah!" or anything like that.

As he unlocked the door to their shared space, she realized he hadn't even asked her name yet. They were about to share a hotel room and didn't introduce themselves to one another. Jesus.

But then she nearly ran right into his back as he pushed into the motel room, because he stopped dead. She almost asked him what his problem was but then she caught sight of what his problem was when she peeked around him.

One bed.

One single solitary queen sized bed sat in the middle of the room, the pillows positioned in a way against the headboard that almost made it look like the bed was mocking her.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Nope. No," he was mumbling. She unceremoniously pushed past him and walked right up to the bed as he continued, "This can't be happening."

"They booked us a room with only one bed?!" she snapped. She spun on her heel. "Did they say there would be one bed?" she asked him.

He shook his head, looking just as annoyed as she felt. "No. No, they did not. They did not say that. My seat tomorrow on that plane better have a whole lotta fuckin' leg room, 'cause this is ridiculous."

"What the hell is wrong with them?" she groused. "This is one bed! We're two people! We're strangers!"

"Very...very strangers. I-I mean, we're super strangers. Super. And this is insane."

"We can't stay in this room. With one bed? This isn't gonna work. I'll share a room with you. I get there wasn't much choice there, or whatever they said, but this isn't fair to either of us."

"It's weird and creepy and they should be ashamed for doing this to us. I feel lied to."

"Yeah, me too!" she half-yelled. This was heinous. This was out-of-bounds madness and she wanted to go right back to the airport to yell at freaking Greta and Wanda for doing this to her.

Sure, sleeping in the same room as a strange guy probably would've meant she'd be sleeping incredibly lightly...not that he seemed dangerous, but she refused to trust people for any reason. But to have to sleep in the same bed with a man she'd just met an hour ago? She was pissed.

"Okay...Okay, look. I'll fix this. You can keep the free room. I'm gonna go to the front office and book myself another room. I don't care about the expense, it's one night and it's totally fine. Or maybe they have another room that has two beds, or...I don't know, a rollaway cot I can sleep in." Chuck shrugged and gestured to the bed. "This just isn't gonna work. I'm with you. I-I mean, I agree. This is out of the question. No offense, it just—I don't...know you."

"I'm not offended! This is bad! Very bad!"

He nodded and grabbed his wallet, checking it, before handing her one of the room keys and keeping one for himself. "There's that. I'll be back. I'm gonna figure this out. Wish me luck."

She didn't reply, glowering at the one damn bed, anger still rising in her chest. It wasn't enough that her mission was potentially wrecked by her missing that flight, her body was hurting, and she had no CIA resources at her disposal if things went even further south than this, she also was trapped in a room by the damn airliner with a kind of cute stranger and one damn bed.

What the hell else could go wrong?

}o{

They both sat side by side at the end of the bed they would apparently be sharing after all. When he'd gotten to the front office, the clerk had been extremely apologetic about the mix-up. It wasn't his fault, though, and Chuck understood. But he was a little less understanding when the clerk then told him the upcoming storm had grounded a lot of the O'Hare planes that were supposed to take off that night which meant all of the hotels within twenty miles of the airport were at capacity. He didn't have any extra rooms, and the rollaway cots were all in use. They were stuck.

She had already seemed resigned by the time he walked back into their room with his shoulders slumped in failure. It was almost as if she'd known he would come back with nothing.

And now they sat here in awkward and tense silence twenty minutes later, hands folded in their respective laps, staring down at the wooden floorboards beneath their feet.

"Uh," he finally said, clearing his throat. He thrust his hand out towards her. "I'm Chuck, by the way. Chuck Bartowski. I figure I might as well introduce myself, since...this is a thing that's happening for sure now."

She sighed and nodded, grabbing his right hand with hers. "Sarah. Sarah Walker."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah. Shitty circumstances, but still nice to meet you. Couldn't ask for a better stranger to get stranded in Chicago with."

"Hm." Her lips twitched in a halfhearted smile. "You'll be singing a different tune when you hear my snoring."

She'd been so straight-laced, so quiet, kept such a distance in the time they spent together since he'd first seen her at that counter, that he didn't quite know how to take what she'd just said.

She raised her eyebrows after a few uncomfortable moments. "I was...joking. I don't snore."

"Oh. Oh! Ha! Good one." He pointed at her and cleared his throat, grinning.

"Thanks," she drawled. She sighed. "So. What now?" Something about the way her voice cut out made him think she had something else she wanted to say and was working it out in her head. "Hey. Um. By the way, uh, thanks. I mean, for going to the front office to see about switching rooms. Or...getting yourself one. You know, trying to fix this super awkward situation the airline put us in. It was...sweet. Of you."

He hoped he wasn't blushing, but he could definitely feel that tell-tale hot feeling in his cheeks, and coming up from the collar of his T-shirt, damn it. Maybe she wouldn't notice. But she was just...insane levels of pretty. He felt like a nine year old thinking that. She was more than just pretty.

Chuck Bartowski had never seen anyone more beautiful than Sarah Walker ever in his entire life. And he'd seen plenty of beautiful women.

…In magazines mostly.

And he'd been practically motor-mouthing from the moment they got into Martin's car to try to distract himself from noticing too blatantly nearly everything about her that added to her beauty, which was…well, everything about her.

Hearing her say he was sweet—rather, something he'd done was sweet—made his insides flip.

He practically gulped and then nodded.

"Hey, no problem. The fact that they put us in this situation… I mean, if I was super involved in social media, I would really lay into them. Where everybody could see it and spread it and reply and shame them mercilessly."

"Don't do that," she rushed out. And then she cleared her throat as he jumped at how sudden and loud of an outburst it was. "I just...mean that it won't help anything. There's no point in complaining about this on social media where...people can see it."

She rubbed her hands up and down her dark jeans. And he noticed there was a darkness over her knuckles that looked like bruises maybe.

"Hey… Are-Are you okay?" he asked, gesturing to her hands. "Your fists, I mean…"

"Oh. Yeah." She full-on stuck her hands underneath her, sitting on them with a wince. "Yeah, they're fine. I've been...taking kickboxing classes. Still learning how to hit properly. Looks worse than it is."

"Wow, that's legit." He grinned. "My sister is enrolled in self-defense classes. Not the same thing at all. Like, she can defend herself from an attacker, but you could legit kick the shit out of someone. That's pretty—" He stopped himself in time to get his filter in place, because he'd been about to say it was pretty hot. And that was seriously not what he should be saying to a woman he'd be sharing the room with tonight. That was not the vibe he wanted to give off at all. In any way, shape, or form. "I mean, it's epic," he smoothed over.

"I have my moments," she said with a shrug.

He didn't know her at all, she was a complete stranger, and she was super standoffish and quiet—not that he blamed her at all for it—but he imagined she must have a lot of "moments". She just seemed incredibly... Well, the opposite of the mess that he sometimes thought he was.

Expelled from college, working as the supervisor of the Nerd Herd for fifteen bucks an hour, wasting that money on computer equipment, vinyls, and comic books, playing video games and marathoning television shows to escape from the fact that his life was going absolutely nowhere instead of working to make his way towards…somewhere. Or something.

Most people had their shit together better than he did, he thought.

Not that he'd tell this incredibly gorgeous, radical, ass-kicking woman _any_. _of_. _that_.

"Well, listen. I know we're stuck with this one bed, but we can make the best of it still." He blanched at the arched brow look she sent him and backtracked quickly. "I mean, we work with what we've got. So, like," he caught sight of the chairs by the window, "there are the two chairs by the table over there. I can sleep on those and you can have the bed."

She shut her eyes for a second and shook her head. "Oh. No, Chuck, listen, that's okay. I mean, sweet, but I can sleep on the chairs a lot easier than you can. Look at me. I'm, like, ten inches shorter than you."

That made him chuckle. "Whoa, I'm not _that_ tall. Maybe, like…" He studied her a bit, taking in her height. She was actually pretty tall herself, wasn't she? "…five inches. I'm only six foot four."

"Oh. Okay, well then...six."

He chuckled again and she smiled just a little.

"Listen, it might be antiquated, but my sister did not raise me to be anything less than a gentleman, Sarah. And I refuse to let you sleep on chairs while I sleep on this nice and comfy," he braced his heels on the edge of the bed and threw himself back to flop onto the mattress. A spring jabbed him in the lower back and the bed creaked loudly. Also it sort of felt like he was on a lumpy bag of sand or something. "Er, um...ow...make that lumpy, broken-springed, hard...bed."

He heard what sounded suspiciously like a giggle, but when he pushed himself to sit up again, she had wiped any trace of it from her face. "Well, we'll figure that out when we get to it, I guess," she said, glancing at her watch.

He surreptitiously looked at his own watch. It was maybe a little early for dinner but stress and exhaustion tended to make him hungry. A lot of things tended to make him hungry. And there was also the fact that he'd neglected to eat since that bowl of cereal at breakfast and half of the bag of Chex-Mix he'd bought at the Burbank airport before he took off for Chicago.

His stomach grumbled quietly, hopefully quietly enough that she hadn't heard.

He took another surreptitious glance at Sarah's profile. She looked like she was in another world, staring at the floorboards under her feet, her brow furrowed. She was nibbling on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

And he wondered just how much missing that flight had messed things up for her. Maybe it was an interview for a job she needed, and she'd be screwed out of the job now. Or a sick relative she was worried about.

Maybe it was more than just the missed flight and this awkward situation with them sharing the hotel room. In fact, he was almost sure there was something else bothering her. Something important.

He wouldn't ask. It wasn't his business. She didn't know him and vice versa.

But even if he didn't know what it was, maybe he could find some way to take both their minds off of this bullshit, if only for a little while. A distraction. So to speak.

"Hey, you hungry?" he asked, his voice interrupting the tense silence in the room.

Chuck felt her freeze beside him, and then she eased up a little and shrugged. "I...guess. I mean, I should eat."

He already had his phone out and was looking in his maps app for nearby food. He found a place that was only three blocks away with gourmet burgers apparently, and salads, if that was more her thing. He didn't want to make assumptions, but she was just about as fit as Captain Awesome, if not more fit, and it made Chuck think she could potentially be a health freak like his sister's boyfriend. If so, salad with a small side of protein might be to her tastes….

Chuck shook himself. He was being really gross, he decided, and he stymied that whole train of thought.

"Listen, I just found a place. Let's go. I'll buy."

She gaped at him.

"You're not a vegetarian or vegan…? Asked without judgment, I swear." He held up two fingers like a Boy Scout.

"Uh...no."

"Perfect. This place has burgers and salads. Let's go. I'm buying you dinner." He leapt up, grinning. But she gave him a funny look and he realized belatedly how it had sounded. "Wait, not-not like that." He thrust his hand out placatingly. "I'm not trying to—What I mean is we gotta eat. And maybe a three block walk will be nice, before the storm actually hits in a few hours, ya know? See part of the city. Eat… Distract ourselves from the whole shitty missing our flight thing. I've never been to Chicago before."

She was still peering up at him dubiously, but at least there was less suspicion and annoyance than there'd been at first.

He huffed. "Look, I just feel like missing that flight really crapped things up for you a lot worse than it did for me. Don't ask me why, I just have a gut feeling. You seem super bummed. And I'm not—I don't know why and I'm not asking, that's your business. But shit, what do I care if I get to the stupid Buy More conference a day late? If anything, I'm a little stoked about it. It's a mandatory snooze fest."

The corner of her mouth turned up a bit as she looked at him through her eyelashes. And then she nodded. "All right, fine. But I'm buying my own dinner."

"It's a deal." He already had his jacket in hand.

}o{

They stood next to the hostess, shoulder to shoulder, peering out over the decadent decor and elegant light fixtures, the pristine white tablecloths, the waiters in full suits, waitresses in sleek black dresses, the dim lighting, roses in vases on each table, teeny tiny portions on the plates…

Chuck cleared his throat and she saw him run his hand down his front self-consciously, as if straightening his shirt.

"May I take your coat—er, jacket...sir?" an employee asked.

"N-No." Chuck's eyes were comically wide as he spun to face the other man. "Thanks. I-I'll...keep it. Thanks."

"Very good, sir."

"This way," the hostess chirped.

To their credit, none of the restaurant staff seemed put off by the fact that she and Chuck were the only people in this whole building wearing jeans. Or by the fact that Chuck's shirt had "USS Enterprise" scrawled across it. And both of them had an appearance that could only be described as been-through-hell-and-back after their airport fiasco.

They followed the hostess to a table that was right smack dab in the middle of the room, and that fact also seemed to register for Chuck; he wore it all across his face. And when a nearby older couple turned to look at them, an almost cartoonish look of confusion and dubiousness on their faces, Chuck wiggled his fingers at them in greeting, plopping down in his chair across from her.

"Hi, enjoying your meal? … What's good here?" he asked, and they both turned back to their meals, ignoring him. "No? Okay."

Clearing his throat, he thanked the hostess for handing him a menu, and Sarah felt something strange in her chest. A bubble of some sort lodged there, and it was rising.

And as the hostess moved away from them, Chuck stared down at the table, the reality of the situation apparent to both of them as they sat there awkwardly in their airport clothes, surrounded by people in dresses and suits.

Chuck winced, very aware of his faux pas, but she saw a twinkle of amusement in his eyes that were actually not as much brown as they were amber with flecks of brown, especially in the candlelight—or maybe she was just noticing how appealing his features were because she was a bit punch-drunk from the day's events.

He didn't have to say anything.

But that bubble in her chest rose up to her throat, and something in her snapped. The stress of being followed by someone who'd meant to murder her, his then attempt at murdering her, her murdering _him_ in self-defense and stashing his body, the missed flight that was going to make her mission that much harder, being cut off from her CIA lifeline, being stashed in a hotel room with one bed by the airline, and with a stranger no less, and just the utter hilarity of Chuck taking them to an expensive and fancy steak house while they were dressed like bums, the fact that he was so utterly aware of the hilarity of the situation himself…

Her mood broke.

The anger, the stress, the fear… the doubt and worry… The fuckery of having to figure out how she proceeded once she got to Miami now that she'd lost her mark…

She snapped.

And the giggles came out of her quietly at first, quietly enough that she was able to cover her mouth with her hand and turn to the side to keep others from hearing it. But it quickly became a little less quiet, and she tried with everything in her to make it stop. She really tried.

It just wouldn't stop.

Chuck Bartowski was ridiculous and hilarious and in that exact moment, the goofball was everything she'd needed without realizing it.

The giggles broke into a full-on laugh, and she rocked forward, bracing her palm on the stupidly fancy tablecloth.

"I think we should order their finest champagne. There's a bottle on here going for five hundred dollars. What do you think? Beluga caviar?" Chuck asked, and she saw that he was beginning to giggle as well.

That made her laugh harder as she nodded. She threw her head back then, feeling tears start to brim in her eyes. There was gold filigree molded on the fancy ceiling, stupid little cherubs staring down at her. She laughed even harder.

Chuck hurried to his feet and gently curled his hand around her arm.

She agreed wholeheartedly.

And together they left the table behind, waving in apology at the hostess who didn't seem all that put-out by their leaving, before spilling out into the cold Chicago early evening air and doubling over with laughter.

Without realizing it, she caught hold of his arm with one hand to keep herself standing as they staggered down the sidewalk in a random direction, her other arm wrapped around his torso to keep him standing.

She could not stop laughing.

It was all just way too funny. All of it. Every last moment she spent in that stupidly elegant steakhouse was hilarious. Chuck's reaction, the way he was wincing and amused all at once, the way he interacted with that couple, his quip about the champagne and caviar.

The tension and worry she'd been carrying with her, the distrust and standoffishness she'd felt towards her "roommate" for the night, it had all dissipated. And she clung to him, letting her laughter ring out.

"How did you manage to miss that place was expensive and fancy?" she asked through her laughter.

He shrugged, seemingly starting to get a handle over his mirth, unlike her. It had just been such a long-ass day. "I didn't look at the prices," he said, wiping under his eyes with the hand that wasn't currently resting on her hip. "I saw burgers and salads. I dunno!" He let out another laugh.

"It's a steakhouse! They're always like that!"

He choked on his laughter and pushed his hands through his hair, finally breaking away from the clinging and touching she belatedly realized they'd been doing. She swallowed thickly, sobering up a little bit.

"Listen, that was my bad," he chuckled after a few moments. They were both still grinning, and she thought his chest must be full of that nice, warm bubble of mirth still, like hers was. "I apologize. I messed that up. Next time, I will click the Yelp link first before I drag you three blocks to an expensive fancy steakhouse."

"Good," she giggled, bouncing her shoulders once. She pointedly ignored the "next time", because he really hadn't meant it like that.

"And I will amend my mistake right now. I'm gonna make it up to you." He was on his phone again. "Two blocks that way, there's a quote dive bar unquote with burgers, and it has five out of five stars on Yelp. You good with that?"

"Hell yeah," she said hungrily, letting him lead the way again. "It isn't some super fancy dive bar where everyone's wearing ball gowns and tuxedos, is it?"

He chuckled. "Uh, no it isn't. BUT! That actually sounds like an experience. A formal wear dive bar. I'm imagining women in furs and men in three-piece tuxedos and bow-ties jamming to Guns N Roses playing out of a beat-up jukebox. Like skipping out of prom to go somewhere else that's way more fun, but for adults."

She cracked up at that.

It wasn't until she was sitting at the bar, halfway through one of the best burgers she'd ever tasted, that she realized she was actually...enjoying herself. Having fun. Not just because she was letting herself, but because she felt like maybe there was no other way to be around this guy.

Sarah listened to him talk about his surgeon sister, her surgeon boyfriend he called "Captain Awesome" with no small amount of genuine affection. She watched the way his eyes lit up when he talked about certain things in his life, certain people.

It wasn't just joy. He wasn't just a generally happy person even if his life seemed pretty imperfect—she got the feeling he worked in retail and that he didn't make a lot of money, and he hadn't mentioned parents at all since she met him hours earlier which made her think that they weren't a part of his life. There had to be a story there.

She realized that he seemed to approach experiences with an openness and wonder. The first bite he took of his burger...God, the sound he'd made had almost been embarrassing, and she'd looked around a little to see if anyone else had noticed and was staring at them. His second bite, he pounded his fist on the bar top and then pointed to the burger, groaning, "Oh my Godddddd" around the food in his mouth.

He was nuts.

He was real and human and fascinating to watch. But he was also aware. She didn't really know what that even meant herself, but his eyes were intelligent, his mouth prone to humor. And he didn't take himself too seriously. If anything, there was almost a thread of self-consciousness, a lack of self-esteem, even as he seemed to be fully himself in every situation.

As if he was projecting "I'm not perfect but here I am anyway, all of me."

It was thrilling to be around him.

And she needed to slow down and just eat her damn burger, before the trials of the day really pushed her thoughts in a direction she really shouldn't be letting them go in.

}o{

"H'oooh my God, I've never felt cold like this ever in my whole life and I've been to snow!" Chuck rushed out through chattering teeth. He clutched his way too thin jacket close to his body and hugged himself, walking fast.

Sarah began to laugh again.

It made him grin even though he was so cold he was almost in pain.

It was a complete one-eighty from how she'd been at the airport and when they'd first gotten into the hotel. There was more of an ease to her, she didn't seem to think so much before she spoke and reacted, and she was laughing so much.

He'd never heard anything so lovely in his life. And her blue eyes somehow became brighter when she laughed, her smiling face lighting up the entire street, like it was daytime again, the sun high above their heads rather than the moon. Or what would be the moon if clouds hadn't rolled in as quickly as they had.

"You're such a Californian, it's almost a little cute."

"And that's not patronizing at all. Why don't you pat me on the head to complete the whole thing?" She did and it made him crack up. "Oh, thanks."

All she'd done was touch his curls with her open hand, and a physical thrill shot through his body, making him a bit warmer somehow.

He was maybe in trouble. Just a little.

"It is actually cold and I've…" She paused, searching for words. "I've felt the coldest of cold before."

"So what you're saying is you aren't a Californian…"

She merely shrugged. He wasn't getting an answer out of her on that, then, and that was fine.

"In my defense, I thought I wouldn't be leaving O'Hare Airport. For all intents and purposes, I packed for Miami. So fuck me, I guess."

Sarah laughed. "No, it makes total sense. I don't exactly have my best Chicago gear, either. And it's super cold out here, which sort of just adds to the theme of the day for both of us, right?"

"Hey, we're in this together, at least. If I was having a shitty day alone, I'd be...well, having a really shitty day," he said through chattering teeth. "Having a shitty day with you has made it...not all that shitty." When she didn't say anything, merely smiling down at her feet as she hugged herself, he cleared his throat. "And I probably sound like a jerk kinda, right? Here's me over here havin' a blast because I don't really care about the shit I'm going to Miami for. Missing that flight today was probably a way bigger deal for you. Sorry."

"I mean, it was but...Nothing I can do. And you're not a jerk. You've actually pulled me out of a super negative headspace so I can't think of anything less...jerky...than that." She winced at the word and giggled, shrugging one shoulder. It was adorable.

"I'd like to say I did the whole steakhouse thing on purpose with that—what you just said—as my goal, but unfortunately I'm not that smooth, and, in fact, it was just that I'm a fuckin' idiot." She giggled and shook her head. "I'm glad I could help."

"I'm just trying to figure out if that burger was worth not feeling my toes—strike that, my legs—right now."

They laughed together at the ridiculousness of the situation, and the laughter continued all the way back into the hotel room.

}o{

She didn't want to be selfish, but when Chuck offered up the shower to her first, she pounced on his offer. The idea of standing in a hot jet of water, in a room filled with steam, after walking back in the biting Chicago cold from the dive bar, was heaven.

He mentioned turning up the heater in the room—if he could figure it out—and she disappeared into the bathroom.

But then the water was lukewarm. And no matter how she tried to fiddle with the temperature, it either went to freezing cold or lukewarm. There was no hot water. For a good minute, she tried not to scream. It was one thing after another today, it felt like. And she needed just one God damn win.

She eventually decided it was futile to do anything but just laugh it off again, rolling her eyes and finishing up a quick shower. It wasn't like she could really enjoy it anyway. She took her time drying her hair with the crappy hairdryer attached to the bathroom wall, and she took even more time using her brush to style her hair without even really noticing that she was doing it.

As she emerged in a tank top and drawstring sweats, she spotted him sitting in one of the chairs at the window and peering out from behind the curtains he'd since drawn to keep the parking lot light out of their room she figured.

Part of her wondered why he was peeking like that. What was he looking at? Or for? She couldn't help it. She was an agent with the CIA.

"Just so you know, the water doesn't get hot. So that's a fun addition to our shitfest of a day." She watched to see if he would jump, as if he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. But he just casually let the curtain fall back and turned to her, a pained look on his face.

"Seriously? The water doesn't get hot? That was the only thing that got me through being out there! What the hell?" he whined.

She dropped any smidgeon of suspicion she'd had right then.

"Well, look at it this way: you got through it. Good work, Chuck."

He chuckled and shook his head, then gestured outside with his thumb. "The storm has started out there. Buckets of raaaain, buckets of raaaain…" he sang in a strange voice. She gave him a look and he cleared his throat. "Bob...Dylan. Anyway, I'm gonna go take my cold shower I guess. Freaking assholes," he grumbled as he grabbed a pair of boxers and a T-shirt from where he'd laid them on the bed so that he could apparently just jump in the shower right away when she finished.

"You can make it not cold. It just...doesn't get warm either."

He gave her a look over his shoulder and she giggled, before he shut the door behind him.

She decided to take this time without his prying eyes to dunk her bruised knuckles in the ice bucket he'd apparently gone to fill with ice while she was showering.

It was maybe a minute or two into his shower that she heard him humming. She tensed up a little, then turned to stare at the door to the bathroom. This guy really just lived his life, didn't he? Humming some song she didn't know as if he was the only one in here. She found herself smiling a little at the sound of it.

After a few more minutes, she took her hands out and dried them. And then she flopped back on the bed and grimaced, understanding what Chuck meant when he described the bed as...what was it? Lumpy? Broken-springed? Hard? All of the above. And it was also unnervingly squishy at the same time. How was it all of those things? She didn't get it. Was this mattress from the nineteen fifties?

It didn't matter, though. It was a bed. And she was going to have to start preparing herself for the actuality that she might be legitimately sharing this bed with a man she'd met about six hours earlier. It wasn't unthought of that she spent a night in close proximity to an almost stranger—male or female. But this particular man…the thought made her squirm in discomfort. This wasn't for a mission, he wasn't her partner on an assignment, they weren't trapped in the belly of a building overnight trying to find a way to escape without being gunned down by drug smugglers.

This was just some guy who happened to miss the same flight she did.

And she also happened to spend at least the last three hours having a legitimately good time being around him. She let herself think that the people in his life were lucky. He was lucky, too.

She didn't have time to think more on that, though, because Chuck emerged from the bathroom in his boxers and clean shirt, this time with a logo that said Comic-Con on it. That checked out. He was scrubbing his wet curls with a towel almost viciously, squinting in determination as he flipped open his suitcase and meticulously folded and reinserted his dirty clothes inside. Was he a neat freak, she found herself wondering? What did his home look like? His bedroom?

Agent Sarah Walker—the Ice Queen, as she was known by her peers—wanted to know more about him. She wanted to hear him talk, about himself, about his life, about anything at all. And, she was discomfited to realize, she wanted him to keep looking at her in the way she kept catching him looking at her. It wasn't anything like what she was used to. She didn't really understand it. She just knew that it felt good.

"So it wasn't a hot shower, but a shower is a shower and I feel like I've just washed, like...all of the bullshit from the airport and the rest of it off of my entire person." He straightened up and brushed off his shoulders. "I'm a new man, Sarah Walker."

"Hopefully not entirely new. I was just starting to like the one from before."

Why had she said that? Screw it, she didn't care why, because he was smiling at her like she'd said the right thing.

"Listen, I haven't changed since tenth grade when I hit my growth spurt so you don't have to worry about that and maybe that wasn't as good coming out of my mouth as it sounded in my head. I've matured. I'm much more mature than sixteen year old me."

She laughed and pushed herself to sit up, scooting back to the pillows and propping herself against the headboard. She pointedly took up just the left side of the bed, leaving a large spot on the right for him, and she watched his eyes settle on said spot, before he cleared his throat and turned to peer over at the chairs.

"I'll, uh, I'll take the chairs, like I said—"

"No, you won't."

And she felt like that was all she really needed to say. Because while he looked like he might protest for a second, he seemed to just trust her instead. Trust that she was okay with it, trust her at her word, trust that she'd tell him if she was afraid or nervous or just uncomfortable with it.

At this point, after the last few hours, she thought she trusted him more than she'd trusted people she'd worked with or known for years. Granted, she was an agent with the CIA. Spies didn't tend to trust people, nor did they elicit trust from others.

But she trusted him. And he seemed to trust her back.

Chuck padded over to the bed and crawled onto it, both of them sitting on top of the covers. It was a little awkward, sitting there with him in the silence, but not at the same time.

Something about the moment just felt comfortable to the agent.

}o{

Her long legs were stretched out in front of her, clad in thin grey cotton, and her arms and shoulders were bared. She had more than just muscle tone. She really meant it when she said she was training in kickboxing. He could see her strength. It was a little intoxicating, and he decided to look away from it. She wasn't here for him to ogle.

The wind was really ramping up outside, blasting loud raindrops against the window, but the room wasn't cold thanks to the heater. And yet, sitting here next to her felt exceptionally warm suddenly. This was why he'd wanted to sleep on the chairs. He'd be uncomfortable and cold, but he'd be a good ten feet away from her instead of on the same bed, just inches away.

It couldn't be a king bed. It had to be a queen, damn it. A king would at least let him leave a few feet of space between them. Maybe he could sleep on the very edge of the bed.

"...Chuck?"

He spun to look at her, eyes wide. Shit, she'd been talking to him. "I-I'm sorry. My mind went to another world for a second. What did you say?"

She smiled quietly and crossed her arms, leaning back more into the pillows. "I asked about Miami. You keep saying you don't really mind that much that you missed the flight. I was just curious as to why I guess." She shook her head then. "It isn't my business, though, so if you don't want to say…"

"No, no. It's... Listen, it's no secret that I kiiiinda hate my job. And I have hated it. For a while. Annnnnd I'll probably continue to hate it. I'm headed to a conference for my job, and that's why I don't care if I'm late to it." He shrugged.

"Why do you hate your job?"

"It sucks."

She snorted. "Fair enough."

"Nah, it just…" He chuckled and shook his head, mimicking her pose, pulling his knees up close to his chest and wiggling his toes against the duvet. "It's a dead-end job. It pays the bills enough and I'm full-time so I get benefits, but they're shitty benefits."

"Why you still there? I mean, you seem pretty smart. You're normal enough. You could probably get something better." That made him grin in amusement. "Uh...sorry. That sounded rude now that I'm thinking about it."

"You're good," he reassured her, still grinning. "And yeah, I guess I'm normal enough." She winced and he chuckled good-naturedly. "It's a tolerable job. I barely tolerate it. It's good enough pay when I pile on the hours and the benefits at least exist and I have managed to keep from murdering my coworkers after all these years." She smirked. "I dunno, my sister asks the same thing all the time. But I'm just…" He sighed, searching his brain for what he was trying to say. And in spite of the fact that he was sitting next to a very cool, impressive, mind-blowingly stunning woman he would love to impress just as much as she impressed him, the truth came out instead. "I'm in a rut and I don't have enough willpower to leave it. And there it is." He huffed and shook his head, lowering his chin with a self-deprecating smile on his face.

"That was really honest," she said quietly.

Chuck just shrugged and turned to glance at her. "Guess I don't see any reason not to be honest with you."

"'Cause you're never gonna see me again after we land in Miami tomorrow?" She cocked her eyebrow prettily.

"I mean, maybe." He smiled. "But I also think that you're just…" He huffed, frustrated he couldn't find the words.

"What?" she asked, amusement and warmth in her tone and features. It made him want to just melt into her.

"I feel like it's safe for me to be candid with you about my...self." He made a face. "You're safe. I mean, you feel...safe. Like I can say that kind of stuff to you and not have you judge me, at least not out loud which is just as good."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, looking down at her knees. But her smile deepened all the same. And he wondered if he was just imagining the look in her eyes when she swept them up to meet his again.

"You're an interesting guy, Chuck. I really can't pin you down."

"Oh, false. You're a kickboxer. You could pin me down easy. Even if I tried to fight it." He wondered if he shouldn't have said that, but there was a certain air in the room now, and she was emitting warmth, and he thought maybe he hadn't gone too far.

She confirmed it with the slightly flirtatious smirk she shot him and an even more flirtatious response.

"Are you trying to say you'd let me pin you down?"

He made a face. "I'm not really sure how to answer that one, Sarah."

She tilted her head, her smirk widening. "See? You're smart."

"Hey, I never said I wasn't. I'm just...lacking in drive. At least career wise. Getting my shit together wise. What I'm trying to say is I'm a mess."

Sarah slipped into a long spell of quietude, then.

}o{

She could see it all pretty clearly, she thought, even if she couldn't fully pin him down—his purposeful misreading of her meaning there and the two-sided flirtation that came from it aside.

Chuck Bartowski worked his retail job, brought home his paycheck, was satisfied enough with that and with the fact that he had benefits, and so he stayed there, in spite of the fact that he was worth way better than that, that there were jobs out there that might challenge him better, that would suit him better. She wondered what had smothered his self-esteem that much, what smothered his drive, his willpower to reach for better for himself.

She wouldn't ask him that. As much as she wanted to know. She'd already gotten personal enough stuff out of him, she thought. Any more than he'd already offered and she'd be rude not to offer information about herself in return. And…no.

Maybe he was a mess, but it was a different kind of mess. It was a normal kind of mess. Regular people slipped into ruts all the time—working the same job every day in spite of hating it, going to the same subpar sandwich shop for the same subpar sandwiches, staying in relationships that were only just okay. She realized suddenly that she would love to know what it felt like to be that kind of a mess. To have her life a little less controlled by an intelligence agency and her superiors at that agency. To be a little bit more of a real, human mess. She knew anybody not in the CIA—and a lot of people who were in the CIA—would think she was nuts for even thinking that. But at least she would feel more connected to the world and the people in it.

Chuck was the type of mess she'd love to dive into.

Because even while he was a mess, even while he sat there on the bed next to her telling her his frustrations of coworkers who goofed off and broke things and harassed customers without getting fired because the company was so poorly managed, his frustrations of everyday life, things that were so incredibly trivial in the grand scheme of things, Sarah could see that he was generally okay. He was healthy, generally happy, and he was safe and comfortable. Sure, he knew he should take a risk, leave the...Buy More was it called?...and search for a better job. But his existence would still be safe and comfortable even if he did do that.

She didn't begrudge him at all.

But she was admittedly a little envious.

It was true that Sarah didn't hate her job the way Chuck apparently hated his, but she'd spent the last ten years slipping through the shadows, not making human connections, and generally distancing herself from normalcy. And while she wasn't actively unhappy, she also wasn't exactly happy. Did the person who'd stuffed a dead body through a baggage carousel at an airport deserve happy? She didn't think so.

And yet, there was a sort of privilege to what Chuck was talking about—not that he didn't have his own troubles. But he was able to fret about trivial things, have experiences that human beings living in society had. Annoying coworkers, grumpy customers… His store manager who was complacent and incompetent sounded a lot less terrifying than the CIA director who constantly had his thumb over her, watched her every move, and was too competent and at times too demanding, though she'd never say that part out loud for fear he would lower his expectations.

Having more time between missions meant having more time to think. She didn't want to think, or dwell, or yearn for things she couldn't have. Shouldn't have.

Too late, she thought to herself as she sat there listening to him, watching his expressive face, his hands waving around as he told her about the time two of his Nerd Herders he supervised broke the Nerd Herd sign above the desk by hanging off of it for some challenge they created when they were bored at work.

"And they weren't fired for damaging company property?" she asked.

"No, of course not. That isn't how Buy More operates. They'll fire the person who does what I'm doing right now—criticizing the company—but if you're just a destructive drunk fool at work, naaah, you're good. Of course, I was the one who ended up fixing the sign." He rolled his eyes and grumbled.

She shook her head. "That's ridiculous. Don't blame you for not wanting to be in Miami for that conference thing."

"Yeah, I just think I'm disillusioned by the whole thing. Maybe they'll have booze and I can get wasted or I can just sit in the room playing my PSP and pretend I was there. Or I can chill by the pool wearing a disguise." His big toothy grin made her giggle.

"I get the disillusionment. Isn't that kind of the retail curse?"

He nodded.

She couldn't imagine working retail. Or any kind of desk job that wasn't retail, even. She'd only been suspended to an analyst desk once in the last ten years because she'd disobeyed a superior's orders during an assignment. The mission had gone south as a result and she'd been chewed out and sat at a desk for two whole weeks as punishment.

And even though this work was fulfilling in most ways, she became disillusioned, too, on occasion. More often than not lately, if she was honest with herself. She'd allowed herself to get trapped in a box or something, and she was hiding in it, not wanting to step out of it.

Maybe she felt safer in the shadows where she was untouchable by all of life's difficulties. The things Chuck probably had to deal with. Someone putting a dent in his car while parallel parking, the neighbor's dogs barking too much, a leaky faucet in the kitchen sink, a customer taking their bad day out on your because you're there… Heartbreak, being hurt by people you care about.

That was it, wasn't it?

She liked the immunity from those things.

And yet…

Part of her was aching for some normalcy. She was aching for the ease of regular life tribulations rather than those she faced—being stalked by a killer, being shot at, having to take a bullet out of your own shin in a hotel room after barely escaping with your life.

Chuck seemed at ease, even with his own struggles. There was safety and comfort in him. Maybe because that was how his life was. And damn it, she did feel some envy. Because that safety and comfort just wasn't a part of her existence. It never would be as long as she continued to slink through life the way she slinked through her career—like a ghost. In the dark.

Away from the threat of human connection.

Like this.

And even as she thought that, she wanted to be touched by this man's normalcy, his humanity.

"So yeah, anyway… Not all that bummed about missing Day One of Buy More Extravaganza. If I could accidentally miss tomorrow's flight, too…" He smirked then, pausing and turning to glance at her. "But I won't. I managed to snag a seat next to you on that flight and at this point, I'm not about to pass that up."

Sarah met his gaze and bit her lip. He was really good at saying things that caught her off-guard. Compliments, she was used to—as part of the job and not as part of the job sometimes. But there was so much sincerity, such an unstudied nature to it, that it made her insides buzz in the best way.

She let him know she appreciated it with a certain look and he almost melted a little, his features softening.

But when she didn't respond verbally, he cleared his throat and leaned a little closer, bracing his palm on the bed between them. "I'm sorry about the trouble missing that flight caused you. Stupid security."

She raised her eyebrow. He must've been eavesdropping on her conversation with Greta at the counter because she hadn't told him how she'd ended up missing her flight. She decided not to mention it, even as she inwardly smirked.

Shaking her head, she shrugged. "Oh, it's fine. I'll work it out."

"Well, it isn't enough that you missed the flight, you also got stuck in the same hotel room with a stranger, and not just a stranger but a really chatty nerd who can't be bothered to look a restaurant up on Yelp before he takes people to 'em." He chuckled and ducked his head with a self-deprecating smirk.

She smiled for his benefit, and then waited for him to meet her gaze again before she said very slowly, "It could've been a lot worse."

Agent Walker hoped with everything in her that he got her meaning. Not only could it have been worse, what she'd ended up getting out of all of this was the best kind of distraction. He was...kind of great. And he was looking at her in a way that was so pure, and also so entirely unmistakable.

She wanted it. That look in his eye, everything he was projecting, maybe without even realizing he was projecting it, she wanted it.

All he had to do was lean in just a little and she would meet him halfway. She could see the flame behind his amber-colored eyes and she wanted to taste it. Taste him. He just had to reach for her and she'd go to him. Even the minutest of invitations would have her diving in headfirst.

"That's true. I could've been a professional clown." Caught off-guard yet again, Sarah burst into laughter, rocking to the side and swinging back in to bump him with her shoulder. "Or a stand-up comedian," he chuckled, and she laughed a bit harder.

As they both sobered up a little, she gazed at him with a bright grin, something in her chest aching. She thought maybe she just genuinely longed for this—a regular moment between two regular people—or maybe she longed for his life, his existence. She wanted it to touch her. She wanted to bask in it, get lost in it even. Bury herself in this purely human desire that was rocketing through her body as she met his gaze.

She played with her bottom lip between two fingers shyly, flirtatiously even. And when she felt his hand slip over hers that rested on the bed, his fingers curling around her palm, she squeezed back.

Without wasting any time, she leaned in just as he did and their lips met hard.

The CIA agent had no idea what was going through his mind; she didn't even know what was going through her own mind. But she felt the powerful surge of electricity between them immediately and she let it take her completely, without hesitation, without asking herself what in the hell she was doing.

She pushed herself closer, leaning against his body and grabbing onto his head in both hands to tug him against her lips even harder. His hands fell to her hips, and when she slipped her fingers up into his incredibly soft and still slightly damp curls, he closed his own fingers into fists and twisted the cotton of her camisole top in his grip.

Her body came alive, as if it had been dormant before without her even realizing it. She was so overwhelmed by the headiness of the sensation that she was almost dizzy, so she dropped one hand to his shoulder and used it as leverage to swing her leg over to straddle his lap.

Sarah felt his lips stretch into a smile under hers and something about that just made the desire increase tenfold.

Reaching down, she grappled with the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it up his torso.

His arms swung up over his head and she pulled out of the kiss with a gasp, tugging his shirt off in one clean move and tossing it over the edge of the bed. He leaned in to kiss her again, a dazed and hungry look on his face, but she quickly stopped him with both hands on his chest and pushed him down against the pillows.

Chuck's eyes widened, startled, but then he grinned hard, sending a fluttering sensation through her body as a slow smile grew over her face. She dove down to kiss him again, cupping his face in her hands, arching her back.

When she felt his fingers slip under the hem of her own top, the scorching pattern he was leaving on the small of her back sending an intense thrill up to her head and back down to settle between her legs, she broke the kiss again and sat up straight. Just as quickly as she'd gotten rid of his, she stripped her top off and threw it over her shoulder playfully.

The giggle he emitted got caught in his throat as his eyes then lowered to her chest. There was a flash of something delicious in his gaze and then he surged up to cover her breast with his mouth.

The rest of their undressing was admittedly clumsy once they actually got to it, more so on his part, though they were both equally eager to get past the fantastic foreplay. He ended up knocking his elbow against the wooden headboard hard, making her have to choke back a laugh, and her own pants got caught on her ankle bad enough that she had to roll off of him and reach down to shove them off with her hand.

They wrapped each other up in one another's arms and Sarah spilled all of her passions into the kiss they shared. She reveled in how good it felt just to be held. And she let herself think that this was it—this was her moment to really experience what it was to be a regular person—a woman who didn't have to worry about having her guard up just in case, a woman who was having sex with a man, two human beings enjoying the sensations and connection without her fretting over whether or not she might give him too much of herself when her whole life practically she'd done her best to exist as little as possible.

But she didn't think about much more when he took advantage of her wandering mind to flip them over so that she was pinned to the bed beneath him. His body was stronger than it looked when he was fully clothed, wiry and lanky, and it felt so good over hers, pressing her down into the mattress.

He wanted her so bad his jaw was clenched, his eyes flashing, nostrils flared, and she was confused as to why he wasn't just taking her when she was practically putting herself on platter for him, completely ready, her legs wide open, arms around him. And then she realized he was taking a moment just to make sure this was what she really wanted.

All she had to do was let out a breathy sigh of his name, a soft, barely audible, "Chuck", and he was inside of her, his face pressed to the sweet spot just above her shoulder. She cried out and froze beneath him as he went deeper and deeper, and she squeezed him tight in her embrace, shutting her eyes and turning her face into his hair.

His lips traced a pattern down the side of her face and he breathed her name in her ear, his hand rubbing her shoulder reverently, everything about the way he was touching her making her feel things she'd never felt before.

They both dove into it without hesitation, without slowing down.

She climaxed faster than she'd been prepared for and as they laid there holding one another tightly, Agent Sarah Walker—the Ice Queen—was starting to think _he_ was her safety, he was her comfort. It was him. Not his life, not his normalcy. It wasn't just that this man embracing her was a regular guy.

She opened her eyes and nuzzled his temple with her face, before she threw her weight to the side to get him on his back. She pushed herself to sit up above him and look down at his handsome features creased with awe and warmth as he met her blue eyes with his golden ones.

This man, Chuck...Bartowski was it? He wasn't like anyone she'd ever met. He was extraordinary.

* * *

**A/N: **Just one more part left. Thanks for reading. Please review! Thanks.

-SC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I appreciate everyone who's read and reviewed this story. End of the line. I said it would be just a few chapters and I meant it. Thanks for humoring me with this one.

Here is the last part of _Chuck Versus the Airline_. Thanks for reading, folks!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK. I'm not making any money.

* * *

He'd pushed the entire concept of time out of his brain, out of his existence, so he didn't know how long it had lasted. All he knew was that they'd kept going. They kept diving back in over and over and over...and over.

Chuck felt a certain tightness in his thighs that made him think his muscles would be aching tomorrow...or later today, assuming it was well after midnight. Or something like that. Time didn't matter.

What mattered was that he had been through some utter shit in his life. He'd been through some utter shit that very day, even. And all of it felt...okay…because of what had just happened.

An incredible woman he'd just met in a freaking airport mere hours ago had slept with him. They'd just had a lot of sex. More sex than if he added up the sex he'd had in the years since he was twenty-one put together.

He was exhausted.

He'd never felt more energized. More alive.

His whole body felt like someone had stuck him on a spit and lowered him into a fire like he was a marshmallow.

This was insane. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life. And it was absolutely nuts. He never thought of this as something Chuck Bartowski would do; sleeping with some woman he'd met in an airport, the ridiculous situation aside. Sure, she was fantastic. Yes, she'd come onto him just as much as he'd come onto her, which was driving him out of his mind just trying to figure that out. But it just wasn't usually his style. Sex had never been something he just...dove into. Maybe because he'd never had that kind of opportunity before. Maybe he'd just never wanted a woman like this before. Maybe he'd never had that singular, sizzling connection with any other woman.

Be that as it may, there was no way he was letting himself resist when she made it clear what she wanted. Because he wanted it, too. So badly. (He still wanted it, if he was honest with himself, but he thought maybe another break would be a better idea.)

But she'd wanted him back. And that was something he was having a hard time comprehending. His brain just couldn't compute a woman like Sarah Walker meeting him, spending time with him, and then actually wanting to have sex with him. Were the gods finally blessing him after taking dump after dump after dump on his existence for so long?

And as he felt the hand resting on his waist drift down to stroke the outside of his thigh and drag back up curl around torso, a smooth, lithe, bare body cuddling up against his side, he decided they had to be blessing him. He was being rewarded unfairly. Maybe the folks who handled this sort of Miracle Situation Assignment job up there mixed his name up with someone else's. Some guy named Buck Tarkowski had gotten screwed over.

He chuckled silently at that thought. He thought he might be punch-drunk from the mind-blowing sex.

"Mmm'what?" came the deep, crackling voice that made his blood heat up almost immediately.

Chuck glanced down at her face that was pressed into his shoulder. "Hm? Oh. Nothin'. Just had one of those stupid thoughts people have sometimes. Nothing even worth voicing."

"I'll let you have that," she said, amusement in her voice.

"Thank you." He snorted. "Not to…" He cleared his throat then, wondering if he really should. And he thought, after tonight, to hell with it. He would anyway. "Not to be crude or...whatever...but can I just ask where...where you learned to do...that?" he asked.

She pushed herself up to lean on her elbow and hover half over him, looking down into his face with a furrowed brow. Her blond hair was tousled, her eyelids heavy, a look of utter satisfaction on her face, and he was sure he'd never seen anything or anyone this beautiful ever in his entire twenty-six years of life. And he never would again, he thought to himself. "Do what?" she asked.

He made a face. "You know... _That_." When she still looked confused, he cleared his throat and rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. "Why don't I just act like an adult and say it?" He huffed. "All of the things you did when we were having sex. I just...How? I guess that's what I'm asking. How the hell did you…? Because I mean, I—I dunno, I'm completely killing it, aren't I? I'm killing the entire thing. I need to learn how to just keep my mouth shut."

She'd begun giggling as he spiraled.

Chuck flopped his head against the pillow and rolled his eyes.

"There's no way for me to really answer that," she said, and he thought at least she was amused and he hadn't made it so there was an air of awkwardness around them. "It's just…sex." She shrugged. "I do what feels good."

She squeezed his side and he decided that felt good. Having her half on top of him also felt good.

"That's a pretty good tactic, I have to say. I mean, it worked really well. Maybe we should change the subject so that I stop saying idiotic shit."

Sarah laughed and lowered her face to tuck it under his chin, draping her body over his like an incredible blanket, skin to skin, and she cuddled him tightly.

Chuck wrapped his arms around her and smiled into her hair. "This is crazy. It's okay for me to say that, right?"

"Oh, it's absolutely insane," she agreed. "But...I'm not complaining." She pulled back and looked down at him. "You gave me absolutely no reason to complain."

Her meaning wasn't lost on him and he couldn't help the massive grin stretching over his face. Or the blush. "And you made missing my flight and the comedy of errors that occurred after that ten thousand percent worth it. More than worth it. I'd miss my flight one hundred times over for this." He whistled and got a teasing shove to his shoulder for it.

She giggled and he thought he detected a blush on her face too.

"What would Greta and Wanda say if they saw us now?" he continued.

"Oh my God, stop!" she exclaimed, cracking up. She went to smack him this time but he caught her hand in his. He saw just a quick mischievous glint in her gorgeous blue eyes as a warning, but he was too blissful to act on it, and he found both of his arms pulled up, his wrists pinned to the pillow above his head. She straddled him and arched one eyebrow down at him.

He had a feeling she let him break her grip on purpose so that he could round her waist and flip her onto her back, climbing over her with a triumphant "ha HAAA!" straight out of _The Princess Bride_. She squeaked and giggled, grabbing his hands and beginning the wrestling in earnest.

Chuck pushed any lingering thoughts about what this was, about what it might be...could be...out of his head as they rolled back and forth on the bed, laughing and gasping for breath around heated kisses. When she finally sank onto him again, he whimpered and reached up to brace himself the headboard.

He let himself get lost in it. He let himself drown in her. If he never came back up for air, he'd be happy. The happiest he'd ever been in his entire life.

}o{

The clock read four in the morning, but she couldn't sleep just yet. He'd fallen asleep maybe a half-hour earlier and as creepy as she felt for it, she just watched him, her front pressed tight against his side.

His curls stuck up every which way, but she could see distinct tracks in them from the trail her fingers had made. And his eyelashes were crazy long, resting against his cheeks. There was a tiny little upturned bit at the end of his nose, and his mouth seemed to almost angle up at the corners naturally. Or maybe he was just incredibly satisfied even in his sleep.

She'd noticed how candid he was about expressing his pleasure. He hadn't held back at all, letting her know how good she made him feel. Which meant he'd made sure she was well-aware of just how much she'd knocked it out of the park, so to speak.

And really, so had he.

He'd sincerely surprised her. Not that he seemed like he'd be bad—until they sat side by side in bed together, the flirtation heating up, she hadn't actually thought of what he'd be like in bed. It hadn't occurred to her even slightly. He was a nice, cute guy—a stranger she'd just met who seemed like a good enough person—and then...well, the physical desire hit her like a wrecking ball. Or maybe it had been building and she didn't recognize it. Either way, she would've been surprised if any man she'd slept with had been as fantastic in bed as Chuck ended up being.

He'd put every bit of himself into it. He'd done _everything_. She didn't know how she knew that; she'd just felt it. It was overwhelming. She thought he must have kissed every last inch of her body. Even _there_, which she really hadn't expected at all. And he'd done it more than once in just the few hours since they kissed.

But it wasn't until halfway through the night that she was hit with a serious realization. The timing hadn't been great because she'd been on top of him, literally in the middle of having sex with him. He'd had this look on his face, under the obvious pleasure. He'd looked up at her with more than just awe and desire. It wasn't anything she'd ever seen before. It wasn't something she really even understood.

But it changed the way everything had felt from that point on.

The explanation she'd given herself for the mounting flirtation between them, the way she began looking at him differently both over dinner and especially once they got back to the motel room, was that he represented a normalcy she wanted to feel, even if just for one night. She wanted to touch it, taste it...even if only for a moment. Before she went back to her life as a CIA agent who hid in the shadows and used different names on each mission.

She'd been wrong, though.

That wasn't what this was.

Looking into his eyes in that moment, their foreheads pressed together, fingers threaded together on the pillow where she'd pinned his hands with her own, she realized it wasn't just what he represented. It wasn't just normalcy.

It was him.

It was Chuck Bartowski. This guy she didn't know at all, except that he was warm, kind, thoughtful, legitimately hilarious, fun to be around, genuine… And that was enough to know that this would not have happened with any regular dude around her age that the airline might've stuck her with. This happened because of who he was.

There was a real and serious connection between Agent Sarah Walker and this particular person who now slept soundly beside her, his arm furthest from her falling off the side of the bed and hanging there limply.

Letting out a quiet giggle, she carefully stretched over him and gently picked up his heavier-than-she-expected arm, setting it on the mattress next to his hip. He'd wake up with no feeling in that arm if she didn't help him out. And she smirked at the way he didn't even budge after all of that.

He was out cold.

And maybe she was kind of satisfied that she'd done that. Also, it was four in the morning, but she was going to give herself credit anyway.

She'd done that. But she needed to figure out was what she was going to do now that she'd done that.

Because she hadn't just slept with someone; that was something she'd done enough times before to know this was very different. This was so much more than just sex, and she didn't have to be normal to figure that out. She wasn't a regular girl by any means, but she knew what just sex felt like, and this hadn't felt that way at all.

He'd held her in a way that triggered something deep inside of her, and she knew that she'd held him back in the same way.

The only thing now was that she didn't know what she was supposed to do about it.

Once the plane touched down in Miami tomorrow night, or rather, tonight, that was it. They'd go their separate ways. Him to his conference he didn't want to be at, and her to find Irving McClocken. She had a difficult assignment ahead of her, and she'd need every last ounce of her focus, no distractions.

She'd have to break away from this.

And it hurt to think about it way more than was probably healthy.

She quietly laid back against the pillows, putting a few inches of distance between them, and she stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache. This hadn't been a very good idea in hindsight, but she'd thought it'd be sex and nothing else. Or...well, she didn't know what she'd thought anymore.

She was going to be wrecked by this. She just knew it.

People didn't have experiences like this and just...move past them. She could try, and God knew she'd try really, really, really hard. But she would fail. This felt so...once in a lifetime.

And maybe she didn't deserve this, Agent Walker thought to herself. Maybe she didn't deserve even this, let alone more than this, with a man who was most likely better than any person she would ever meet again. Certainly better than she was. She'd just murdered someone fifteen hours ago.

He'd find some woman who deserved him after all was said and done. Extraordinary guys like this always did, right?

They did in the movies.

Even mediocre guys got great women sometimes.

As Sarah turned her head and peered at him, she decided that she was already in this deep, already in a lot of trouble emotionally, she might as well go a little further. There would be a lot of hurt later, she knew, but right now, she would enjoy, revel in the safety and comfort of him.

So she rolled back over and cuddled up against him, laying her head on his chest and rounding his torso with her arm. In spite of sleep eluding her before, his warmth and the rhythmic beating of his heart under her ear put her to sleep almost immediately.

**}o{ Four weeks later }o{**

"Lester, I swear to God, if you don't take your tongue off of that cardboard cut-out of Xena Warrior Princess, I will murder you by putting the Blu-ray for season eight of One Tree Hill into a blender and forcing you to drink it in front of your family!"

Lester pulled back from the cut-out and spun on Chuck, gasping. "Charles, you know that is my least favorite season!"

"Exactly."

Jeff shook his head in a daze. "Whoa, Blu-ray. That's way more high-definition than a DVD. That's an HD smoothie, dude. You can't say no to that."

_What in Sam Hill…?_

Chuck gestured back towards the break room. "Just—just go! Just get off the sales floor. I can't handle either of you today, okay? Go."

"We still get paid?"

"I don't write your paychecks, do I? Just go. Both of you."

They shrugged and shuffled off, shoving each other and laughing like fourteen year old pre-puberty idiots.

He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and massaged his temples. He could do this. He only had one more hour and then he would be free for three whole days.

Big Mike tossed him a bunch of vacation days he could take whenever he wanted as a thank you for taking a bullet for the team and going to that conference. It had been a meaningless conference, and to the store manager's credit, he apologized for making him go for nothing and gave him vacation. Was it allowed? Chuck didn't know. He wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth about it. He was taking some days off and giving himself a bit of separation from this place.

Hopefully he'd make it to four o'clock without having a stress stroke or an aneurism or something. He thought sending Jeff and Lester away might ease things.

Granted, that meant he'd have to take care of all of the devices people had left for the Nerd Herd to fix. It was a sacrifice he'd gladly make if it meant working in peace for a little while.

Sliding back behind his desk, he began repairing a Galaxy phone, doing his best not to let any melancholy sneak into his thoughts. Instead, like a mantra, his brain reminded him of his three days of vacation. Just one hour. He could get through the next hour.

But the repetitive monotonous task of fixing phone after phone after phone started to get to him, and he eventually had to put it all down, laying his arm on the Nerd Herd desk and dropping his forehead onto it. He took a deep breath, let it out, and droned, "I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind, I'm losing my mind…"

He heard the frustrating ding of the customer service bell right near his ear. God damn, he couldn't even put his head down for a second. And as much as he loved his best friend more than pretty much almost everybody, he wasn't in the mood to listen to his woes about how nobody wanted to buy things from him because of his height.

"Morgannnn? Not now," he drawled slowly, reaching over with his free hand and draping it over the hand that was still covering the bell.

The back of the hand was smooth, though, the fingers long with manicured nails, they weren't stubby and covered with hair… He slipped his hand around it, feeling it for a moment, and then lifted his head to look. It was a female hand, one hundred percent, and as he followed the arm up to her face, he sat back, his jaw falling open.

And then he surged up to stand at his full height, just gaping, wide-eyed.

A tentative grin swept over her face and he was struck again with just how endlessly beautiful she was. It was like a punch to his gut.

He thought he'd never see her again.

"Hi," she said quietly, biting her lip, as if unsure. But her blue eyes he hadn't stopped thinking about for four weeks straight were still so warm and bright.

"Hi," he breathed. He beamed at her. "Oh my God, hi. I-I mean, you're...here. You're here. Hi."

She smiled again and nodded. "Yeah. I am."

"What are ya—I mean, how are you?"

"I'm good." She took a deep breath. "Pretty good. You?"

"How do I even answer that when my tongue is tied up in knots at seeing you again? That's-That's how I am." He shook himself. "That is to say, I'm really, really good. At this particular moment."

How was she even here? What had he done to deserve this? What did he do now? How did he even proceed?

"So. This is where you work." She looked around at everything.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is it." He was at a loss. Everything felt numb and his heart was racing. Because four weeks ago, he'd gotten stranded in Chicago, pushed into a motel room with a stranger, and over the course of the next twenty-four hours, he'd fallen in love with her, only to let her walk away again at the airport in Miami. And a massive part of him had regretted not pursuing something, getting her phone number, an email address, friending her on some social media thing. He'd tried googling her. He'd tried searching "Sarah Walker" on every social media platform that existed. But there were billions of Sarah Walkers out there. And he knew nothing about her to go off of.

And then all of a sudden, she showed up here, in Burbank, at the Buy More.

Like a freaking godsend.

He wondered if she could see it in his face, that he was fully wrecked by her appearing out of the blue like this, wrecked in the best possible way. That he wasn't sure how his legs were even working anymore because he couldn't feel them.

"You look really good," he muttered dreamily, swallowing hard.

She turned back to him and smiled, that warm smile he remembered her giving him that night four weeks ago, after she'd seemed to become more talkative, more comfortable with the situation.

"Thank you." She flicked her gaze down his torso and back up again, smiling harder. "So do you."

He snorted and looked down at his Nerd Herd uniform. "The pocket protector doin' somethin' for ya?"

"Maybe it is," she said immediately, her voice as smooth as warm butter.

God. He was glad the desk was here and he could hold onto it, because otherwise, he thought he might faint. She had a way of throwing him off completely. Off what? Off everything.

She cleared her throat when he didn't respond and shifted her weight, leaning in closer, before looking around again as if to make sure nobody was watching or listening. Then she met his gaze seriously. "When are you going to be done here? Because...I need to talk to you."

Chuck glanced down at his watch. Twenty-eight minutes until four. There was no way he was standing here for the next twenty-eight minutes knowing she was here, in his city, this close, and he wasn't with her. He'd go insane first.

"Fuck it," he breathed, stepping to the side and bracing his palms on the desk, swinging himself over it to land beside her. "Right now," he said as she looked up at him with wide eyes, amusement tilting a corner of her mouth.

Her eyes flicked over to the side and her brow furrowed in question. As overwhelmed and filled with adrenaline as he was, he caught the look and followed her gaze to see that Jeff and Lester were standing about twelve feet away, just staring at the scene, completely dumbstruck, emphasis on the dumb.

"Going home early," Chuck chirped, because he was absolutely out of fucks to give. "Jeff, you're in charge. Don't burn anything down, 'kay?"

He grabbed Sarah Walker's hand and walked down the aisle towards the Buy More main exit.

"Can't make any promises," Jeff said in his usual drugged-out drawl.

"Cool, I don't care!" Chuck called, not even looking back as a highly confused Sarah Walker just let herself get pulled along with him.

}o{

Somehow she'd managed to tighten his tie rather than loosening it while trying to get it off, and she felt bad about the choking sound he made as a result. "Sorry," she panted against his lips, pulling back just enough to look down and actually watch what she was doing.

It had all been a blur.

She'd seen him there at the desk, his hair unmistakable as he rested his forehead on his arm. Everything in her came alive as she'd approached, and when she announced herself, when he looked at her finally, she'd seen everything she'd felt all day while traveling to Burbank flash across his face.

They'd left the Buy More behind, climbed into her rental car, and now they were in her hotel room. In spite of everything she needed to talk to him about, the moment the door closed behind them, they'd pounced at each other.

They'd talk later.

At the moment, she had no intention of setting this fire between them aside.

Instead, she tossed his tie and his shirt aside. She heard the clunk of everything in his pocket protector hit the floor of her hotel room and she winced a little but he didn't seem to care as he unbuttoned her skirt and pushed it down to land around her ankles.

She giggled into his lips and stepped out of it, also stepping out of her heels, and leaping up into his arms. She rounded his waist with her legs, her hands braced on his shoulders. She giggled even harder when he grinned and dove in to kiss her neck, walking her to the bed and laying her down onto it. He crawled over her and gathered her up in his embrace, just holding her and kissing her.

And as she shoved her hands between them to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, trying to get the show on the road, she let her mind drift back to four weeks earlier. She'd woken up late that morning, her limbs tangled with his, feeling both insanely sated and exhausted, but also filled with unending light. They'd been able to keep things from being awkward, eating breakfast together at a nearby café, traveling to the airport together, sitting beside one another for a three hour flight that she'd allowed herself not just to fall asleep on, but she'd also woken up near the end of the flight with her head on his shoulder. It wasn't until late that night as she sat in her hotel room, alone, planning for her assignment, that she'd thought about the time she had wasted sleeping instead of talking to him or just...being with him even in silence. Especially when they would part eventually at the airport in Miami.

She'd blocked thoughts of him as much as she could while she completed her assignment. And she'd continued blocking thoughts of him when she'd gotten back to Langley and debriefed with Director Graham.

But then it had all come rushing back to her as she stepped out into the hallway outside of Graham's office. And she'd ducked back in, asking him if she could have a few weeks of R&R. He'd seemed surprised by that, and she couldn't blame him for it. She hated R&R and he knew that. She preferred to dive into the next mission the moment the last one ended. It was how she operated. But he had granted her some leave, saying she deserved it.

And she'd gotten on a plane to Burbank's little airport the next day.

And now, seven hours later, she was pushing Chuck Bartowski's pants down to his ankles, trying in vain to get them off of him because of his stupid canvas sneakers he was still wearing, damn it.

"Shoes," she panted. "Take off the shoes."

"Right, right. Right. Shoes. Got 'em." He rolled off of her, sat up, and untied his shoes with shaking hands, his movements jerky and desperate.

She didn't know where she went from here. That was why she'd wanted to find him immediately and just...gauge how things went, talk things out with him. Figure out if this could… Well, it could.

As he tossed his shoes, socks, and pants away and draped himself back over her body, she knew beyond all doubt that it could and would. That was, if he didn't sprint out of the door screaming first.

Talk.

She inwardly scoffed. She should've known better. After the explosion of seeing one another again, the memory of the physical and emotional intimacy from that night four weeks ago, and the ache from walking away from it, they weren't going to talk first.

This was first.

And the moment they joined, the intensity was there. It didn't stop for some time. Neither did they.

She shook above him, throwing her head back with his name on her lips, and she distantly felt his arms wrap around her, her body tilting to the side and ending up on the mattress. When she was able to breathe properly again and had some semblance of control over her senses, she clung hard to him, her lips pressed to his shoulder. She finally blinked her eyes open.

The sun was almost completely set outside of her window, the dusk light still coming in through the open drapes. She let a languorous smile stretch over her face and a happy, breathless giggle bubbled up from her chest. A little embarrassed by it, she turned her face into his jaw and just beamed.

"Y'okay?" he asked, still breathing hard himself. His long, warm fingers moved against her back almost as if he was giving her a slow massage and it was the most comforting, reassuring thing she'd ever felt in her almost twenty-seven years of life.

"Yeah," she said, still grinning. She hugged him hard, letting her eyes drift shut again. "I've never been this okay in my entire life." That was the truest sentence she'd ever uttered perhaps.

She slid her hand up to rest on the back of his head, let her finger comb through his hair at the nape of his neck, and pressed her lips to his jaw.

"Me, neither," was his reply.

And she found she was infinitely glad she'd blocked that common sense voice in her head, the one that constantly told her to stay in the shadows, that she didn't deserve anything good. This was everything good and she wanted it, whether she deserved it or not.

She felt his body go tense against hers then, and he pulled back a bit, just enough to be able to look her in the eye. Confusion was in his brown eyes, in his furrowed brow. "What?" she whispered, stroking her thumb over the spot right under his ear.

"How did you find out where I live? I-I mean where I work? How'd you even find me?"

And so… The so-called honeymoon phase was at an end, wasn't it?

She had meant for this to be the first order of business, and then...well, things happened, one thing led to another. Maybe she'd gotten greedy, selfish.

This was what she'd wanted to tell him right away when she got to Burbank.

She could only hope this wouldn't be the end.

"Um. Right. About that…" She licked her lips and met his quizzical look with a steady one of her own. "There's something I need to tell you, Chuck. And when I tell you this, I need you to…" She sighed, steeling herself. "Well. Just… Don't freak out."

* * *

**A/N: **Boop! The end.

Thanks again for popping in and appreciating this short fic. I'd love it if you'd take the time to review. See you folks on my other stories.

-SC


End file.
